


Tired

by loki_scribe



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, MWPP Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-04
Updated: 2010-09-04
Packaged: 2017-10-11 11:18:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loki_scribe/pseuds/loki_scribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James tends to panic without back-up. And after months without him, Remus is hurt and tired and sick of fighting with Sirius.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tired

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "The pain has never been this bad before" on comment_fic

James has always been the one who never takes any chances. Deep down, Remus has always recognized that James is the responsible one. Wild and devil-may-care and sometimes, when he just doesn't like you, plain mean, but never the reckless one. James is the real, honest, bone-deep responsible, because when his head is out of his arse he looks after people and not consequences. Remus looks after consequences and is jealous of James, because he will always fear the consequences at least as much as he worries about the people.

And because of that, he can't quite bring himself to swear at Prongs while newly human fingers staunch a wound he's not going to be able to explain to Madame Pomfrey.

Still, James is the responsible one. Sirius is the reckless one, the one who wants to watch life break its rein in a few wild moments of freedom, and wasn't there last night, so it should have been safer, right?

Now that the wolf's scrabbling has stopped, James comes hurtling up the steps and into the room with a length of bandage and a wand. Remus kind of wishes he'd had time to put his trousers back on.

James leans down beside Remus and gently pries his hand away from the wound. He winces when he sees the hole in Remus's side, grazing the ribcage. "Merlin, Remus, I'm sorry."

Remus smiles weakly. "Honestly, James, you'd think you'd never had to gore me before."

James glares over the rims of his specs and turns his attention back to the wound. "Shut up."

Has James ever gored him before? Remus can't remember just now, and somewhere in the back of his mind all he can think of is Sirius's bulk headed at him like a battering ram, steering him gently and biting his ruff or his ears when the wolf didn't want to listen. Sirius is the reckless one, and because of that he's the one who never panics. He's the one who drives Remus back into the forest naturally, with nips and play fights and running shoulder to shoulder. James worries that he'll hurt someone, that Remus will never forgive himself, and so if Sirius isn't there he does it all at once, because he knows the wolf can take it.

Remus is sometimes more inclined to agree with James.

James is the responsible one, so there's no doubt his hands are clean, but Remus still refuses to watch and tries not to think about it as James probes the wound. It hurts, but he's used to pain and he's not going to whimper like an injured puppy in front of James.

"Where's Peter?" he asks instead.

"Went to the hospital wing to stall Pomfrey while I fixed this," James says, and grits his teeth. "Stop talking, will you? You're _moving_."

"You don't have to fix it all," Remus answers. "Break a chair leg, maybe I speared myself with that."

\--

His side is killing him. Peter's stalling tactics have always left people suspicious, and Madame Pomfrey isn't entirely satisfied with the broken chair as an explanation for Prongs's horns. Chair legs splinter.

But she lets it go, because she can't think what else it could be, and takes Remus to the hospital wing to give him a potion and lay a slow healing spell on him. She tells him she'll make his excuses to Vector and McGonagall, since it's Arithmancy and Transfiguration he ought to be at today, and tells him to _sleep._

So Remus manages as many stairs as he can and collapses into his four-poster, wondering whether he ought to close the curtains or if the pure, exhausting ache of a bad wound will put him to sleep in spite of light or noise.

"Moony?"

Remus puts the pillow over his face and decides to pretend Sirius isn't skipping his Potions class in favor of whatever it is he's doing in their room.

"Moony?" Sirius repeats.

A moment later Sirius's bed creaks as he rises from it and all Remus can think of is _No, no, go away, I can't do this, I'm too tired for this, I don't want you to . . . NO._ He can't bring himself to say it, though, even as his own bed creaks and he can feel the sudden depression from Sirius's weight.

God, he's tired of this.

"Your shirt's stained, Remus. How bad is it?"

Sirius is _on his bed._ Remus knows he can't ignore Sirius any longer, not really, although it would be really nice if he could. "I'll live."

The depression in the mattress moves closer, and a moment later Remus can feel Sirius's body heat as his hand lingers by his shoulder. The hair on his arms prickles upwards, and there's a moment where every pore of Remus is screaming for that warmth to be turned into a touch, even as Remus's more sensible side is begging for Sirius to take a sudden and involuntary trip to Timbuktu.

And then he can't stand sitting in Limbo anymore. "Why aren't you in Potions?" Remus asks, as waspishly as he can manage under the circumstances.

The hand doesn't move. Remus doesn't move to knock it away, because his limbs seem suddenly made of lead. "James said he hurt you," Sirius whispers.

It's clear it takes everything Sirius has to say it. It's in the waver of his voice, all hope and fear and barely repressed anger. And Remus hears what goes unsaid, even though he doesn't want to. _He shouldn't have had to. I should have been there. I should have_ protected _you._

"I'll be fine," Remus says, but there's a groan in his voice that says they're just words. Even with Madame Pomfrey's pain killers, the pain has never been this bad. James has never lacked backup. "The wolf can take a lot."

The silence this is met with says _I should have been there_ more loudly than any words ever.

Remus really wishes that hand would just _move._ And finally, it does. Sirius puts it on the bed, and Remus can feel the comforter bunching underneath him as it tightens into a fist around the fabric.

"Better me than a couple sneaking back into the castle after dark," Remus says finally. "Since most people find the full moon romantic and all."

"_Remus_. . . ." But Sirius doesn't finish the sentence.

Neither of them can do this. This . . . dance. They've been at it for months, ever since Sirius the reckless arse made a few stupid comments to a certain Slytherin that they didn't talk about anymore. Ever since Remus realized just how true it was that Sirius didn't give a rat's arse about the consequences and didn't always think about the people. Ever since Remus who cared about the consequences and James who cared about the people had gently removed him from the most dangerous thing they did.

Remus wishes he would finish the sentence. He's never been able to hold his ground against James or Peter, let alone Sirius, and the fact that Sirius isn't _asking_ him to give way is the only reason he hasn't yet. And Remus can't push, can't ask Sirius to come back, because obviously some part of ole Padfoot doesn't want to. Remus needs to be asked.

But God, if you're out there, he is just so _tired._

Slowly he lifts the pillow off of one eye and looks at Sirius. His unruly dark hair halos around his pale face like some kind of inverted Old Testament angel, and his brow is creased with worry. Remus decides not to notice the slight tremor to his lower lip.

It's not asking. So Remus isn't giving. That's just not the way they work.

"I get hurt sometimes, Sirius," he says instead. "It comes with the whole werewolf thing. You could still get to Potions, you know."

Sirius edges a bit nearer, and despite the part that's still screaming _No, Sirius, I can't do this anymore,_ Remus lets out a relieved breath he didn't know he'd taken in when Sirius's hand touches his shoulder again. "Sleeping it off?" he asks softly.

"Mmm," Remus mumbles, because the long night and the bone-deep ache got to him a long time ago.

He closes his eyes, so he feels rather than sees Sirius stretch out beside him, his hand sliding across Remus's chest to pull him closer. They haven't been this close in months.

And if he falls asleep more easily than he would have if Padfoot had just left, he doesn't notice.


End file.
